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Remsen and the secretary were no longer in the office
when Joel returned. Professor Durkee was standing
with his hat in his hand, apparently about to leave.

“March,” began the principal, “Mr.
Remsen tells us that you were struck at by Bartlett
Cloud on the football field one day at practice.
Is that so?” Joel replied affirmatively.

“Does he speak to you, or you to him?”

“No, sir; but then I’ve never been acquainted
with him.”

“Do you believe that he could have stolen that
letter from your room?”

“I know that he could have done so, sir, but
I don’t like to think—­”

“That he did? Well, possibly he did and
possibly he didn’t. I shall endeavor to
find out. Meanwhile I must ask you to let this
go no further. You will go on as though this
conversation had never occurred. If I find that
you are unjustly suspected I will summon you and ask
your pardon, and the guilty one will be punished.
Professor Durkee here has pointed out to me that such
conduct is totally foreign to his conception of your
character, and has reminded me that your standing in
class has been of the best since the beginning of
the term. I agree with him in all this, but duty
in the affair is very plain and I have been performing
it, unpleasant as it is. You may go now, March;
and kindly remember that this affair must be kept
quiet,”

Joel turned with a surprised but grateful look toward
Professor Durkee, but was met with a wrathful scowl.
Joel hurried to his recitation, and later, before
West’s fireplace, the friends discussed the unfortunate
affair in all its phases, and resolved, with vehemence,
to know the truth sooner or later.

But Joel’s cup was not yet filled. When
he returned to the dormitory after supper, he found
two missives awaiting him. The first was from
Wesley Blair:

“DEAR MARCH” (it read): “Please
show up in the morning at Burke’s for breakfast
with the first eleven. You are to take the place
of Post at L.H.B. It will be necessary for you
to report at the gym at eleven each day for noon signals;
please arrange your recitations to this end. I
am writing this because I couldn’t see you this
afternoon; hope you are all right. Yours,

“WESLEY
BLAIR.”

Joel read this with a loudly beating heart and flushing
cheeks. It was as unexpected as it was welcome,
that news; he had hoped for an occasional chance
to substitute Post or Blair or Clausen on the first
team in some minor game, but to be taken on as a member
was more than he had even thought of since he had
found how very far from perfect was his playing.
He seized his cap with the intention of racing across
to Hampton and informing West of his luck; then he
remembered the other note. It was from the office,
and it was with a sinking heart that he tore it open
and read:

“You are placed upon probation until further
notice from the Faculty. The rules and regulations
require that pupils on probation abstain from all
sports and keep their rooms in the evenings except
upon permission from the Principal. Respectfully,